


Song in Your Presence

by Cafelatte100



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Butterflies, Comfort, Fingon's harp, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Laughter, Lights, Music, Ocean, Post-Rescue from Thangorodrim, Seashells, Stars, The Two Trees of Valinor, Ulmo - Freeform, Varda Elentári, aman - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:35:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28036266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cafelatte100/pseuds/Cafelatte100
Summary: Gap filler stories: It is said that Fingon “knew not that Maedhros had not forgotten him at the burning of the ships”. But Maedhros couldn’t have forgotten his beloved childhood friend that easily.
Relationships: Fingon | Findekáno & Maedhros | Maitimo
Comments: 14
Kudos: 67





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Niargem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niargem/gifts).



> Gift fic for Gemennair: Thank you so much for introducing me to Silmarillion and all things Tolkien while working with me on several Good Omens fanwork projects this year. Also, please check out her stunning Silmarillion artworks on instagram and tumblr.  
> [Bio & Contact](http://www.gemennair.contactin.bio/)
> 
> The artwork in this fic is by Gemennair as well. Thank you so much for your gift, Gem! 
> 
> And thank you also to [ Aini_Nufire ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aini_NuFire/pseuds/Aini_NuFire)for beta reading! 
> 
> Regarding time in YT: I understand that 1 hour in YT = 7 hours in our time, but an "hour" in this chapter is not meant to be literally 7 hours, but just a metaphorical expression of the present. :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The 1st part is my short take into what a day in life of young Maedhros and Fingon might have been like in the age of innocence when they resided in Aman.

“Look, Maitimo! Found another good one!” 

Fingon had been fond of nautilus seashells since he was a child. He loved them all, and cherished even the broken ones he discovered. While silently listening to his younger cousin's  enthusiasm over collecting them, Maedhros often participated in helping Fingon find his new treasures. After their steps left happy footprints upon the soft white sands one morning, Fingon even brought the shells with them on their trip to the Two Trees. 

It was a rare time when countless blue butterflies came for a visit to soak their wings under the lights of the Two Trees before their next collective migration. The air had become an ether sea during this hour, as a chorus of blue wings rejoiced in their light kissed flight. 

Deeply stirred by the sublime beauty of the moment, Fingon took out his harp and composed a new song for the Two Trees and the visiting winged creatures playing among the mingling lights. Like a single chord drawn out of two separate strings, Fingon wove two themes of Time into his music. His new song enveloped the independent rhythms of the ephemeral butterflies and the ageless light of the Two Trees inside one poet’s dream—commanding them to become interdependent with one another amidst his song. And free as the infinitely many waves harmonizing within one ocean, all the lights and the butterflies moved and sang with him like a contrapuntal polyphony within one unifying musical dimension. 

As Fingon finished singing the last note of his song, he closed his eyes, and just then, one of the butterflies came near to rest upon his raven hair. From a certain distance, it gave off the appearance of an otherworldly blue feather purposefully placed as a decorative accessory—an incandescent headpiece fit for a Maia. When Fingon opened his eyes again, Maedhros held a finger to his lips.

“Shh, don’t move, Finno,” Maedhros whispered as he moved closer to his cousin. Though perplexed, Fingon did as he was asked. When Maedhros determined he was near enough, he used enchantment to call the delicate creature toward his hands. 

“Here, open your hands, Findekáno,” Maedhros said as he gently gathered the butterfly and allowed Fingon to hold it just as he set his harp aside. “This one chose you.” 

While Fingon held the butterfly inside his palms, Maedhros quickly grabbed a bowl he had prepared and filled it with water. 

“It tickles, Maitimo,” Fingon laughed. “And I don’t think he likes being trapped inside my hands all that much!” 

Maedhros smiled while he wrapped his own hands around Fingon’s. As Fingon continued to laugh, Maedhros closed his eyes and gave a short silent prayer, blessing the butterfly inside.

“Make a wish, Findekáno,” spoke Maedhros. 

“What?”

“Hurry, you better make it quick, Finno.” 

This time, Fingon closed his eyes as he thought of his wish. 

“All right, now let us release him,” Maedhros said, when Fingon opened his eyes again. 

Maedhros gently opened Fingon’s hands as if he were carefully opening the covers of a treasured book. Two young elves sat transfixed as they watched the butterfly fly freely once more. It braided the air with the silvery and golden beams of the Two Trees as its lustrous blue wings ascended star-wards.

“Look, Maitimo! My palms are covered in light!” Fingon exclaimed, interrupting Maedhros’ attention. 

“So are mine. The butterfly did that for us when its wings fluttered against our palms. Quick! Put your hands alongside mine here!” 

They let their hands rest inside the water filled basin Maedhros had prepared, and watched the water glow as it pulled and absorbed all the glittering light left on their palms. Maedhros then dexterously made a water based varnish out of the luminescent water and taught Fingon how to properly apply it onto the seashells they brought with them. The two elves worked together to coat the inner and outer surfaces of Fingon’s sea treasures, enhancing their natural hues while making them glimmer as Varda’s stars reflected on night water. 

“Maitimo,” called Fingon as he held up one of the beautiful shells he’d lacquered under his cousin’s direction. “Take this one with you.”

“I don’t collect seashells, Finno. My pleasure lies in you keeping them all,” laughed Maedhros. 

“But— I want you to have this one. Something to remind you of... all this,” Fingon said as he looked towards the Two Trees. “And so that you won’t forget to come back and visit the sea with me when the white seabirds return from their journeys.” 

“Seabirds?” Maedhros asked. 

“The times you visited and stayed with us often coincided with the migrating seabirds’ return. When I see the elegant white birds upon our seashore, I learned to expect your visit.” 

“I see. Well, then I suppose I should coordinate my travel plans with them from now on,” Maedhros said amid his laughter. 

“Take this one with you, Maitimo,” Fingon persisted. “So that you’ll remember and won’t forget to visit us when... even when things may change one day.” 

“Ah, so there’s a motive behind it then,” Maedhros teased. “Not to worry, cousin. My memory isn’t so terrible, and there’s no need for bribery now. Really doesn’t suit your character. Besides, change may not always be so bad. Isn’t there an old saying which says without change, there’d be no butterflies?” 

Maedhros made a sweeping gesture at the migrating butterflies. 

“There wouldn’t be all this without change, you know,” he continued. The Two Trees were now adorned with flickering wings of sapphire, and ripples of azure fire flooded the air of the hour. “And there wouldn’t be any point in remembering anything if nothing ever changed.” 

Though Fingon’s cheeks turned red, he firmly grabbed Maedhros’ hand and stubbornly placed the seashell he had been holding inside. Maedhros stopped his teasing, and was persuaded to look at his cousin's  gift once again. It was indeed, a wonder to behold. The liquid light had crystallized as a profusion of stardust, and it was as though the luminescence of the Two Trees had cadenced upon the spiral shell ship docked at the palm of his hand.

Despite himself, Maedhros couldn’t help but blush a little too. _I could never forget you, Findekáno. And that would never change._ He spoke wordlessly with a quiet unspoken delight. 

Fingon smiled and cupped Maedhros’ hand inside his, bringing the shell close to his cousin’s ear. 

“Listen, Maitimo, I think the ocean music changed since these shells have been varnished.” 

“Oh? How so, Finno?” 

“Just listen, cousin,” Fingon spoke while laughing. “Tell me what you hear, for I desire to know how it speaks to you.” 

With his ear leaning against the shell, Maedhros closed his eyes and concentrated for a long moment, before opening his eyes again to the cloudless summer skies within Fingon’s blue gaze. 

“Well?” Fingon looked at him with expectant eyes, waiting for him to speak.

“It will get dark soon,” Maedhros spoke after a long pause. “We should head back. Will you play the song again before we leave, Finno? The one I heard you compose today?” 

“You’re no fun,” Fingon pouted, but deciding not to press his cousin further, he obliged him, grabbing his harp. 

As Fingon began to sing again, Maedhros moved closer and quietly laid his head down on his friend’s lap, with one hand still on the shell, but now pressed against his chest. 

Fingon’s music covered and wrapped itself around his cousin’s spirit like a blanket, and Maedhros soon found himself humming softly, singing along with his cousin. A melody tenderly secured the souls of two young elves, which would one day bind their fates again as music flowed between them, their voices harmonizing with one another like the entwining of two lights.

_Though we can’t know anything for certain in this life, perhaps inside dreams we may come nearer to certain truths that are often hidden from us. And when tomorrow arrives, turning today into a dream, I'd_ _like to believe that I heard the sea meeting the sky inside the song of this hour._

_Did the shell recite the same story to you as the one revealed to me, Findekáno?  
As I listened, I heard an echo of Light singing to the Sea for the first time, when the Two Trees reached for the ocean in winding beams of gold and silver. And pleased with their music, Ulmo had answered; for he took a gentle wandering wave and gave it wings, morphing it into a thousand blue flamed butterflies to chase after the lights’ song. _

_You asked how the seashell spoke to me, Findekáno, so I shall tell. Perhaps it is only my imagination, but underneath the chantings of the holy lights, salt water, and sand, I was certain I heard your ocean voice caught inside the conch as if it were preserved in stone. And when I held the shell against my heart, your harp strings were weaving fragments of your presence into all the shifting landscapes of this hour’s dream in sweeping swirls and spirals._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the quotes I used in this first chapter was from this picture I've seen here on [ Pinterest](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/306667055881839280/).  
> "Without change there would be no butterflies."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Maedhros is rescued, he rediscovers that songs aren’t solely contained in beautiful music. Music is embedded in all things, and sometimes, it speaks even in just the presence of someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this particular story, I’m headcanoning that though elves cannot get sick, they can still suffer from infection and ailments that can come from broken bones and other serious injuries alongside prolonged starvation.  
> This chapter will include some hurt/comfort scenes of Maedhros struggling with infection/fever as a result of various wounds. 
> 
> I was also following the headcanon that the age gap between Maedhros and Fingon wasn't as large as some fan works I've come across. For this case, I was headcanoning that Maedhros was a child when Fingon was born, but whichever headcanon you follow in terms of their age difference, I hope no one gets offended that I took advantage of Tolkien’s sometimes notorious information gaps. I honestly love both headcanons when it comes to their age difference. Same goes for Maedhros’ eye color!:) I’ve seen him depicted with both green and blue eyes in various fan works. But for this story, I will be using the headcanon that Maedhros’ eyes were green.

***************

It was a cold winter night in Mithrim when the white frost gathered outside the window panes. 

“There you are, dear one. It’s only a bad dream,” spoke a soft voice. 

Maedhros woke to a pair of ocean blues looking worriedly at him. Ever since Fingon had come of age, Maedhros always thought his cousin’s gray-cerulean eyes were loneliness made of the deep’s phosphorescence—a melancholy light soaked blue gaze that was the soul of all the oceans of old. Still shaken from a dark dream, Maedhros fixed his eyes upon the familiar blue depths as if to steady himself. 

“Fin—” Maedhros coughed.   


“I’m here, Maitimo. You’re safe,” said Fingon as he caressed Maedhros' hair.   


“You… reckless idiot… should not… have…” rasped Maedhros, struggling in between coughs. 

“Shhh, easy now. Just rest, Maitimo,” Fingon chided. 

But Maedhros reached out a shaking hand, and, seeing the movement, Fingon quickly grabbed his hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. 

“Finno, I -” 

“Shhh, don’t hurt yourself, Maitimo.”

To soothe his cousin from the shock of waking from another nightmare and in hopes of distracting him from the pain, Fingon climbed into the bed and pulled Maedhros’ trembling body close against his chest. He then started to speak softly of the times long ago when he had been close in friendship with Maedhros and lies had not yet divided the Ñoldor. 

“Do you remember the day we looked upon elanor and niphredil for the first time in the hour when the lights from the Two Trees entwined endlessly in their infinite embrace? And you told me those yellow star flowers must be the winged thoughts of Varda when some of their petals took flight in the wind? I didn’t think I’d come across them again after leaving Aman. But in the forest of Lórien, I chanced upon seeing them grow in abundance. Dear one, let us go where the elanor and niphredil bloom when you’re well enough to ride. Then we can catch fish in the stream where fair Nimrodel’s voice can still be heard when the winds play among the new leaves… 

“And I would like to visit the sea again soon when winter passes. Remember how you helped me look for seashells? Long ago, you called them spiral jewels. Did you know I would count the days until your visits so that you would indulge me with trips to the seashore? Seashells are odd, aren’t they? Even when a shell is carried far away from its Sea, and the animal inside it has long been gone, the breath of the ocean still remains—forever sighing to the mournful song of the starlit waves scattering upon the sacred white sands. Like the forging relationships between the most distant notes and keys, there is so much promise of a return after parting inside an empty shell’s ocean music that I do not know to this day if such things deserve laughter or tears.

“It’s strange but when my ear leans against a wild seashell, I think I take the ocean more fully into myself than I can any other way… when you’re healed, let us go where the blue water’s deep harmonies curl and move to Ulmo’s hand.” 

There was a soft knock and one of the healers entered.

“His bandages need changing, and it’s time for his medicine, sir,” said the healer. 

Fingon nodded. “Let me help you.” Fingon worked with the healer in cleaning and applying fresh bandages around Maedhros’ bloody wrist. The healer also checked and tended to his broken ribs along with other numerous cuts and bruises littering his body.

“There now, carefully,” said Fingon as he helped Maedhros drink the healing tea. He really hoped Maedhros would be able to keep it down this time. After being starved and tortured for years, Maedhros was in desperate need of nourishment and care. But Maedhros’ body couldn’t seem to hold anything down for too long and he still struggled against the persistent raging fever from the deadly infection that set in after his right hand had been severed above the wrist.

“Don’t,” croaked Maedhros with a cracked, weary voice, “so tired.” 

Maedhros’ once brilliant emerald green eyes exuding the vitality of untamable forest fires looked devoid of their luster. They appeared as shadows of their former radiance, a poor imitation of the beauty and power that reflected his fëa before his torment in Angband. 

“Please, Maitimo,” pleaded Fingon. “Just a few more sips.”

Maedhros looked at the cup wearily, but allowed Fingon to bring it to his lips again. Fingon was able to coax him to drink though he choked a few times. Maedhros looked so spent and drained afterwards Fingon worried if he pushed him too far. 

“Can I get you anything?” asked Fingon as he stroked Maedhros’ thin face.

Maedhros shook his head tiredly. 

Fingon nodded to the healer and he promptly left the room. 

As Fingon was about to retrieve more fresh cloth to cool Maedhros’ brow, a hand reached out and touched his wrist, tugging weakly. 

“Finno,” Maedhros whispered, his eyes silently pleading for him to stay. “Please…” he managed before another pained gasp escaped his lips. Maedhros looked at him with such haunted eyes Fingon felt as though his heart had been stabbed by a thousand daggers just as the moment he looked upon the state of his friend’s broken body in Thangorodrim. Fingon knew that even in his sleep, Maedhros couldn’t truly find the rest he needed; unbearable nightmares persistently tormented him. 

“Shh, be at ease, dear one, I’m right here,” Fingon nodded and softly shushed him. 

After cooling his cousin’s forehead, Fingon grabbed his harp and climbed into the bed next to Maedhros.

Under Fingon’s deft hands, the strings opened up invisible routes leading to audible landscapes.  The melodic arcs of an old tune they both knew were lifted into the air by timbre so warm and gentle that it was as if the golden winds of Valinor had returned, each note offering a comforting hand to the next as Fingon sang through the night.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Maedhros must have been cradled to sleep by Fingon’s singing at some point, for when he opened his eyes again, he was surprised to find one of the harp strings to be broken which hadn’t been before. He instinctively desired to mend it for Fingon, but something else stole his attention. A slow moving sparkle travelled across the string above. He watched the glistening bauble roll down like a lone dewdrop falling on a blade of grass when the last hour of the night sky wept before sunrise. 

“You’re… crying,” Maedhros murmured as he looked up at his cousin. Fingon’s eyes were no longer the calm tranquil sea, but silver-blue pools of rising waves aching with white moonlight. 

“Don’t cry.” Maedhros lifted up a trembling hand but his arm dropped by his side again as he coughed and gasped in pain. Every part of his body felt like it was being flayed all over again. 

Fingon quickly placed his harp down and pulled Maedhros up into his arms. “Shhh, please don’t hurt yourself. Forgive me, dear one. It’s just… I can’t bear to see you in so much pain.” 

“D-don’t cry, Finno,” Maedhros rasped but was overcome by another fitful cough, leaving him wheezing and starved for breath. 

“Shhh,” Fingon tried to mollify. “Speech hurts you still. Save your strength.”

Despite his pain, Maedhros reached out a shaking hand and weakly touched the tip of Fingon’s long braided hair woven with golden decorative strands. Recognizing his gesture to comfort him, Fingon smiled through his tears and took hold of his cousin’s skeletal fingers, interlocking them with his own. He then carefully placed Maedhros’ hand back down and wrapped the blanket securely around Maedhros as he moved to hold him more comfortably. 

“I’m sorry,” Maedhros whispered as a tear slid down his pale cheek. He looked like he was going to speak again but only seemed able to gasp desperately, struggling pitifully against the pain and the fever. The broken ribs on his right side made his chest hurt and his limbs throbbed. His entire right arm pained him so much, as though it was set on fire. 

“Hush, dear one. Just try to rest,” Fingon spoke gently as he wiped the tears running down Maedhros’ cheeks. 

Though Maedhros was in so much pain, he fought to speak again.

“No, Findekáno, let me speak. I’m so sorry… the ships… years ago…burning… tried to stop… didn’t want…tried to send the ships back to you…”Another coughing fit interrupted Maedhros, leaving him shaken and whimpering from the pain. 

But Fingon understood what Maedhros was trying to tell him. This wasn’t the first time Maedhros struggled to speak of Fëanor's burning of the swan-ships in Losgar many years ago. Ever since Fingon’s rescue of Maedhros, the wounded elf wouldn’t stop asking Fingon for forgiveness even amidst his feverish dreams. 

The consequence of Fëanor's betrayal in Losgar forced Fingolfin and his followers to undergo a long and deadly track across the Helcaraxë of Middle-Earth. It was an action that woefully estranged Fëanor’s sons from the house of Fingolfin. When Fingon started on his quest to find and rescue Maedhros from Morgoth’s stronghold, Fingon wasn’t even certain whether or not Maedhros had forgotten him and their friendship during the years when they resided in Aman.

But Fingon’s decision to search for his friend couldn’t be explained away by any worldly wisdom, or even plain common sense. Anyone would have called him mad for daring such a feat. Many would have even considered it a suicide mission. It was more the reason why Fingon had to embark on his search for Maedhros alone, secretly, and without the counsel of any. It was a journey that involved not being sure of where one was going, but going anyway—a quest without maps. 

“Forgive me, please,” Maedhros pleaded again between gasps against Fingon’s attempts to calm him. The effort to talk caused Maedhros to wheeze painfully. 

“Shhh, small steady breaths, Maitimo,” Fingon said as he held his shaking cousin in his arms while carefully rubbing his back.

_How is it possible for a body to feel this bad?_ Maedhros wondered to himself as he struggled against another wave of pain. 

Fingon kept murmuring reassurances and even sang softly until his cousin settled. 

But when Maedhros was able to regain his breath, he tried again.

“I’m so sorry, Findekáno… I… would never have abandoned you and your people… please believe me,”he rasped, breathing raggedly as another tear fell. 

“Shhhh, easy,” Fingon whispered. “The past is unchangeable, Maitimo. Let that matter rest.” He wiped Maedhros’ tear soaked face and cooled his brow. 

“It’s no secret that the years following what happened in Alqualondë were some of most difficult ones my people had endured; I too suffered with them and shared their grief. Yet I couldn’t make myself believe that you had a part in abandoning us. I believe you tried to send the ships back, Maitimo. 

“And though during the years we were apart, nothing came that would have been an unquestionable sign, unless perhaps the sign of my own hand reaching out with a longing I couldn’t quell… Fire may have consumed the swan-ships in Losgar, but I couldn’t accept that it was the end that burned away our ties too. I knew that it was perhaps a holding out a hand in the dark against vain hopes when I made the decision to seek you, but I had to find you. There would have been no peace for me until I did. Our old friendship stung my heart every time I thought of you.”

Just as Fingon felt his throat tighten, Maedhros reached for Fingon’s hand again, and after giving it another comforting squeeze, Fingon didn’t let go of it this time. 

“Manwë was merciful to you in Thangorodrim, but it was still a foolish thing to do, Finno... coming to find me in Angband,” Maedhros whispered hoarsely. Had Maedhros the strength, he would have continued to scold his friend. 

Instead, a spoken unspokenness hung in the air, both saying nothing and everything like the quiet innumerable lights in the night sky.

Then Fingon finally interrupted the mystic silence present in the room with an unexpected burst of laughter. “Well, I’ve often wondered what it would feel like being completely foolish for once. That seemed to be more or less your strength in the old days. Foolishness along with arrogance,” Fingon jested. His eyes suddenly reflected the boundless seas swelling and dancing to ocean melodies searching for their secret stars, his pure laughter the sound of water playfully running over stones. 

If it were the old days, Maedhros might have thrown a pillow at him. But tormented for years and surrounded only by cries of woe and fear, Maedhros was entranced by the silvery sound of Fingon’s laughter. 

_When was the last time I heard that?_ Maedhros wondered silently.

Floating memories of tangled innocence braided by the lights of the Two Trees unraveled and awakened like painful grace as Fingon’s laughter filled Maedhros’ ears and took him to a place octaves above the starry river flowing between the heartbeats of two souls. It was a sound that was as mythic and timeless as the days in Valinor when they played together as children—their incandescent laughters ringing and echoing off of each other like the mingling of the silver and golden lights beneath Yavanna’s Trees.

More tears welled up in Maedhros’ eyes, for it was as though the walls separating the irrecoverable past and the transience of the present shifted for a moment. The hidden music inside Fingon’s laughter would have rendered one incapable of believing in time, for a lost world was suddenly sung into being where stars rained all around as two children ran and chased each other and ocean deep sorrow had not yet touched Fingon’s clear smiling sky-blue eyes. 

“I didn’t forget you, Findekáno. Never have,” Maedhros whispered brokenly as he burrowed into Fingon’s arms. 

“I know, Maitimo,” spoke Fingon. “Deep down, perhaps I’ve always known.”  _And there isn’t a word nor song to describe how much I’ve missed you, dear one._

“Sleep now, Maitimo,” Fingon said as he gently stroked Maedhros’ brow and tucked the blanket more firmly around his body to shield him from the cold. Fingon then began to talk of the wondrous places he’d seen since leaving Aman, and all the activities he desired to do with Maedhros once he recovered his strength. He even talked about the music he had written during Maedhros’ absence, and started to softly hum one of the new songs for him. 

As Maedhros was comforted by the sound of his cousin’s voice, the stars quietly left Varda’s skies and Manwë’s white mantle spread over the blue dome of Heaven outside his room. The hushed air veiled itself in descending white skyflowers and the trees became holy—their branches robed in feathery snow. Though no light could pierce through the mist that covered the heavens and Arda in its whiteness, Maedhros finally closed his eyes with a small smile on his lips as if all the stars had gathered in the crook of Fingon’s arm while his cousin rocked him to sleep. 


End file.
